


The Sin of Vanity

by Momokai



Series: sweetest touch, words like song [7]
Category: The Yin-Yang Master: Dream of Eternity, 晴雅集 | The Yin-Yang Master (2020)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bend Him Over The Nearest Flat Surface And Wreck Him, Boya Out For Revenge For The Prostate Thing Probably, Boya's Guide On How To Tell Your Boyfriend He Was Missed, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, Gratuitous Smut, Impatient Much, Kind of Rough Sex, M/M, Morning Sex, POV Qing Ming, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Qing Ming Gets Rekt, Qing Ming I Don't Think They Heard You In Imperial City, Qing Ming Is A Little Shit, Qing Ming Knows What He's Working With And He Will Not Hesitate, The Title Is A Pun AHAHA, Unbeta'd We Die Like Qing Ming's Furniture, You're Welcome, for one of them anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29651160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momokai/pseuds/Momokai
Summary: If Qing Ming had the presence of mind to care, he might be embarrassed because his spirit servants can probably hear him at this point.Alternatively: That's not how you use a vanity, boys.
Relationships: Boya/Qing Ming
Series: sweetest touch, words like song [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165322
Comments: 10
Kudos: 132





	The Sin of Vanity

**Author's Note:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧P O R N✧ﾟ･:

Qing Ming has woken up to a great many things in his life. From mornings that stray very little from the ordinary, hangovers from long nights and ill held wine, startling news brought by flustered servants, pleasant surprises in the form of gifts or correspondences from friends or simply the sleepy contentment of waking up next to the warm body of the man he loves. 

This morning however, might rank right up there with his favorites. 

As is more customary than not due to the nature of their lives, Qing Ming had woken alone in his bed. He is an old hat at squashing the immediate and oft repeated curl of disappointment upon waking to the lack of a warm body beside him, but it is simply a fact of life that he and Boya cannot spend every waking moment together despite unrealistic wishes to the contrary. Qing Ming is a Yin-Yang Master with duties to tend to far and wide and Boya the captain of the cultivators sect of Imperial Guard with heavy responsibility and skills that are, just like his, in constant demand from all corners. It may seem a lonely affair at times, but it only makes them treasure the moments spent together in all capacities be they business or leisure, all the more, and whilst they certainly remain in frequent touch via magic ears and eyes, Qing Ming's bed has been empty for a long stretch of weeks now, and he had not expected this to change for some time yet. 

Which is why this morning is instantly deemed one of his favorites after he had reluctantly risen from his comfortable bedding to begin his day, only to be interrupted in the process of lethargically fighting the tangle of his hair whilst attempting to strip out of his thin sleeping robe by the press of a warm body against his back and strong hands sliding over his hips. He doesn’t startle because he senses no danger, and he knows exactly who it is both by the possessive boldness of a touch no one else would dare ever attempt and the familiar, inviting scent of his lover drifting from the man against his back. 

“Good morning, Boya.” Qing Ming chuckles delightedly, caught with no pants, his robe open and hair sleep mussed and wholly unconcerned with the fact. The only response he is given is a head ducking into the barely clothed curve of his shoulder and a cold nose pressing into the skin of his neck to inhale deeply. The hands at his waist tighten, the touch claiming and reaffirming and, just as all of Boya’s touches tend to, igniting a pleasant warmth low in his belly. 

With the almost sheer quality of his sleep robe, Qing Ming is immediately and intimately aware of the heat radiating from Boya all along his back, and it’s such an appealing sensation that he almost absently arches into it in his still somewhat sleep addled state. He only has a brief, surprised moment to notice the hardness he is now firmly pressing his rump against before Boya makes a low rumbling sound at his back and the hands on his hips tense, and he is abruptly urged insistently forward a few paces until he has to catch himself on the wooden surface of his vanity. The heavy piece of furniture knocks into the wall with the force of it and it’s contents rattle, a single long toothed comb jumping towards the edge at the impact. 

Boya is a long, solid wall of muscle against his back and Qing Ming swallows thickly as lips ghost a teasing path up the side of his neck to press directly over the thundering pulse point under the hook of his jaw. There is a brass mirror on one side of the vanity, and Qing Ming is thoroughly disappointed to find it at an improper angle to catch a glimpse of the stunning man behind him.

Any sluggishness he might have felt previously at having only just left his bed melts away on a heady shiver, and he obligingly tilts his head as his hair is nosed aside and a kiss is pressed under his ear at the same time as hips are rolled forward in a languid but unyielding motion that grinds the hard length of Boya’s arousal into his flank. Mouth abruptly going dry, Qing Ming stutters out an embarrassingly eager moan that he does absolutely nothing to suppress, and Boya shudders against his back before rolling his hips forward again, almost as if he can’t help himself as he uses the iron grip he still has on Qing Ming’s waist to tug him back into the motion. A blast of hot air drifts damply over his neck as Boya exhales raggedly, clearly enjoying the press of Qing Ming’s ass against his clothed cock, and Qing Ming smiles impishly as he arches his back, raising his hips salaciously, invitingly- and before he can properly decide what to do next to tease his lover, one hand leaves his hip to push between his shoulders and then he is abruptly bent low over the vanity, barely catching himself on his forearms as his feet are knocked apart and Boya’s hand remains a warm, heavy weight between his shoulder blades as he crowds in impossibly closer to rut forcefully into the presented curve of his ass.

Qing Ming makes a choked, delighted sound and drops his forehead onto the wood beneath his arms, pressing back eagerly before twisting an arm behind him to paw blindly at Boya’s hip, fingers tugging insistently on the buckles holding his pants closed. Boya releases his waist to smack his hand away, and Qing Ming does not pout, absolutely not. He returns his forearm to the vanity to support himself and huffs, only to be tugged upright once more for Boya to reach around his shoulders to curl his fingers into the open lapels of his sleep robe and pull them apart. The fabric slips easily from his skin, whispering over his shoulders and then down his arms as it's released and left to drop at his feet in a pool of sheer white. 

Left naked, Qing Ming doesn’t get the chance to enjoy the morning air against his skin before he’s bent right back over with a hot palm between his shoulders, the vanity once again rattling as he catches himself on his hands.

“ _ Boya _ .” He breathes, because he wants to see him, wants to turn around so he can undress his lover and touch him, taste him-

There’s the sound of a stopper popping free, and Qing Ming only has a moment to wonder at it before a slick finger is delving between his cheeks to press against his entrance. He bucks in surprise, and then shivers as the finger circles teasingly around his hole, pressing gently against his opening but not pushing in, and he squirms, trying to draw it into himself only for it to withdraw. He whines. Boya makes an amused sound behind him, before his slicked finger obligingly returns to tease at his entrance, pressing and circling around his tightness almost ponderously before he finally, carefully nudges in, breaching him only to the first knuckle and Qing Ming gasps. He arches, trying to take Boya’s touch deeper, and moans as his lover allows it, his long, slick finger sinking into his heat smoothly and igniting pleasant sparks along Qing Ming’s nerves. Lips parting, he drops his head forward to stare at the vanity’s surface, hair hanging against his temples as he spreads his fingers wide against the woodgrain. His cock is hard and straining against his stomach, tip already beading with precome as Boya strokes him from inside, unhurried and gentle despite his earlier forcefulness, and Qing Ming sighs and allows his eyes to slide closed at the pleasant tingles of pleasure each wet glide of the finger inside him produces, almost absently rocking into the touch. 

The hand between his shoulder lightens before drifting lower, hot palm smoothing down his spine before curving around to curl long fingers over the jut of his hip, thumb stroking his skin as Boya tilts forward to nose into the curve of his neck again, wet lips parting against his dampening skin to lightly press the edges of his teeth into his shoulder, and Qing Ming shudders, raising his head to tilt it back and groaning as he rocks a little faster onto the finger delving into him. Boya withdraws from his neck and groans into his ear.

“Look at you.” He purrs, and Qing Ming’s eyes all but roll into his head as Boya abruptly finds  _ that  _ spot inside him and strokes it lightly. The touch remains fleeting, barely pressing against it at all before retreating, only to return to repeat the light caress that soon has Qing Ming panting and rutting back against his lover in an attempt to chase each touch and encourage it to bolden. He gives a full body shudder as a second slick finger presses against his hole, gently working in with the first and Qing Ming whimpers as he feels his body give, stretching itself around Boya’s fingers and greedily drawing him in deep. Boya leans back to apparently take in the sight, because he groans roughly and his grip tightens on his hip- and Qing Ming can’t help but clench around him just to hear the sound he makes in response to the grip on his fingers, no doubt imagining what it would feel like around something else, and Qing Ming hums in impish delight, because  _ he  _ can rattle his normally reserved partners composure like no one else can, and he barely has to do anything. 

Boya’s fingers sink deep into his heat, and a gasp punches out of him when they press right against the spot that has felt nothing but light, teasing brushes designed to drive him mad since they began. They retreat, and Qing Ming expects to be teased some more before he chokes, hips bucking into the touch as Boya does it again, fingers circling firmly against the spot and sending shocks of pleasure up his spine, each stroke a lightning strike against his nerves that has Qing Ming dropping his head forward again and his hands clutching desperately at the vanity, moaning high and breathless. 

Boya growls, and unexpectedly thrusts his fingers in deep, hard, right against that spot and Qing Ming  _ jerks  _ against the vanity with a shocked cry, cock twitching  _ hard  _ and almost coming on the spot, a thick bead of precome spilling from his slit to trickle down his length, and he pants, ragged gasps of air as his head swims at the abrupt and brutal rush of pleasure that leaves his legs shaking and walls fluttering. 

“Tell me what you want.” Boya whispers into his ear, and deja vu niggles at Qing Ming but he ignores it because he wants more, presses greedily back into the fingers that haven’t ceased stroking him from within, once again only grazing his sweet spot on every other pass and he whines, because he  _ needs it,  _ but his lover suddenly stops thrusting and curling his fingers, holding them still within him expectantly, and it takes a moment for Qing Ming’s fried brain to remember how to function long enough to reply to the question. 

“You, Boya.” It comes out a purr, and he presses back against his lover meaningfully. The fingers inside him twitch, and Boya jolts forward to sink his teeth into Qing Ming’s shoulder, no where near hard enough to break skin but definitely enough to leave a mark, and the carefully restrained, wilder side of his blood shudders out a sound not unlike a  _ mewl  _ that Qing Ming swears up and down he has never before made in his  _ life,  _ and will be embarrassed about  _ later  _ because Boya abruptly jerks his hips forward into his own hand, driving his fingers into Qing Ming and making the vanity thump against the wall a second time, apparently just as surprised by the sound as he is. 

He pulls back, and Qing Ming wants to whine a protest but there’s a  _ third  _ finger pushing into him and he chokes, the stretch burning despite the generous amount of oil coating Boya’s fingers but he doesn’t care, and his body parts around the added intrusion and takes it in just as hungrily as the rest, and Qing Ming’s knees almost buckle as they sink in with a wet sound that punches a breathy groan out of Boya as he carefully flexes the digits buried in his ass, easing his tightness and preparing him to take more. The burn gradually fades, and Boya passes his touch over that spot inside him again to help it along, and Qing Ming’s arms are shaking where they support him against the vanity, muscles tensing and releasing at each spark of pleasure that threatens to undo them entirely. 

Qing Ming unlocks his elbows and drops his shoulders, sinking low over the wooden surface and bracing his forearms against it, trapping swaths of his loose hair beneath his arms and not caring as, from behind him he hears Boya curse, hand releasing his hip- and Qing Ming hears the clinking of buckles as he scrabbles at the catch of his pants. He moans, needy and eager, and slides his feet further apart, widening his stance. 

The fingers inside him abruptly retreat, slipping free of his heat despite the way his body tries to hold onto them and Qing Ming makes a sound of protest, left achingly empty and needing more, and barely an instant goes by before Boya drops a heavy palm between his shoulders again and presses him down, further still until Qing Ming has to spread his arms to make room as he’s pressed chest first into the wood, and he drops his cheek against the cool surface and pants, arching and raising his hips and no doubt presenting in a delightfully obscene manner that he has every confidence drives his lover wild, for the way he groans at the sight. 

Qing Ming feels the blunt press of Boya’s cock against his entrance and whines, pushing back into it, and they moan together as the head sinks past the tightness, his body eagerly accepting what’s being given to fill the emptiness left behind by Boya’s dedicated touch, the slide made smooth and sweet by oil and the care and attention paid to prepare him for it. The angle of his spine does interesting things for the sensation of his lover’s cock sinking into him slowly but steadily, and Qing Ming almost sobs at the sense of a larger, deeper press as the catches of Boya’s pants meet the bare skin of his ass. Fully seated, Boya pauses to curl wet fingers over his hip, thumb rubbing hypnotic circles into his skin as he leans a little heavier on the hand between his shoulders, pressing him harder into the vanity until he is well and truly pinned, and Qing Ming is sure there’s going to be an imprint of his sweaty chest forever engraved in the wood that Honey Bug will likely give him knowing  _ looks  _ over. 

"You're still so  _ tight."  _ Boya groans, voice gone deep in his pleasure, and Qing Ming knows- it's a perk of his blood, heightened durability in some cases that sometimes make no sense to him but he is grateful for nonetheless, because he gets to experience the heavy, all encompassing stretch of Boya's cock in him every time and take everything he is willing to give and more, and it is  _ decadent.  _

“ _ Boya _ .” He moans, as if there will ever be any mistaking exactly who is mounting him, and he clenches around his lover just to feel the glorious weight of him more and hear the catch in his heavy breath. Boya responds by giving an experimental roll of his hips, and Qing Ming whines at the wet drag as glittering bursts of pleasure crackle along his nerves and straight to his weeping length. The hand on his hip tightens and Boya withdraws, pulling out until only the head of him remains before sinking back in with a low, pleased rumble, moving so achingly slow and forcing Qing Ming to feel every searing inch of him as he’s opened back up and filled again. It’s so indulgent, so incredible that Qing Ming’s toes curl and his hands clench into fists on either side of his head as his breath leaves him on a stuttering whimper. 

“You feel so good, Qing Ming.” Boya breathes behind him, and Qing Ming clenches around him again just to make him groan. His lover always makes such beautiful sounds when he stops holding them back, and Qing Ming lives for every one of them regardless of who's in control during their delightful tumbles, and always goes wild for the loud and unrestrained sounds that are so rare but so very worth the effort. Qing Ming can be loud, he knows this very well, and it thrills him on occasion because of what it does to  _ Boya.  _ His normally reserved and composed lover driven to the point of wild lust is a sight to behold,  _ and a delightful ride to cling onto _

Boya rolls his hips again, repeating the torturous but so  _ lovely  _ drag of before, and Qing Ming’s spine bows impossibly further, deepening the angle until Boya’s cock glides heavily into his sweet spot, sending a burst of pleasure thundering through him so strong he cries out. Boya growls and rolls his hips again, sinking back into him faster this time, and aims for that spot again and again as he sets a languid but relentless pace that is uniquely devastating for the magnificent way Qing Ming feels every inch of him with stunning clarity. Each drive of the cock in him pushing him steadily higher and higher towards nirvana, until his pleasure shot mind decides that he could quite happily remain this blissed out for the rest of his life, world be damned. 

He doesn’t realize that there’s been a steady, high sound escaping his throat for the last few moments until Boya seemingly snaps and almost  _ snarls  _ behind him and drives into him with a savage thrust that rocks the vanity into the wall and rattles its contents, and Qing Ming chokes, keen cutting off- stunned into temporary silence by the shock of pleasure that explodes up his spine, sending him tense as a bowstring. 

_ “Ngh, Boya!”  _ He moans, voice high, and his lover slams into him again, hand pinning him harder against the wood as Boya abandons all attempts at slow and languid to set a punishing pace that punches high, breathless sounds out of him on every exhale as the coil of pleasure deep in his belly winds tighter and tighter, and if Qing Ming had the presence of mind to care he might be embarrassed because his spirit servants can probably  _ hear him _ at this point and he won’t be able to look any of them in the eye for  _ weeks _ \- 

The relentless, steady roll of Boya’s hips driving his length mercilessly into Qing Ming’s fluttering depths seems to last for a magnificent eternity, but in reality is probably only a few more moments before the coil abruptly  _ snaps _ , and Qing Ming comes _ ,  _ so hard and so unexpected he bites his own fist to muffle the scream that escapes him without express permission. His body clenches down on the cock still thrusting within him, walls convulsing around it as he seems to come for an  _ age,  _ forcing a choked uttering of his name from Boya’s lips and a steady, breathless keen from Qing Ming. The wave finally crashes, and Qing Ming goes boneless against the vanity, spent and heaving in lungfuls of air as Boya’s grip shifts to hold both of his hips, keeping him from simply sliding to the floor in a graceless heap as his own hips abruptly stutter, savage thrusts faltering before with one, two more thrusts he slams deep and  _ growls,  _ and Qing Ming moans as his love comes inside him, cock jerking and spilling, flooding him with heat.

Boya tilts forward to press his forehead between his shoulder blades, panting against his sweat damp skin as they both twitch and shudder through aftershocks, the metal adornments of his leathers just barely grazing the skin of his back before reluctantly straightening with a grunt that seems pulled deep from within him. Qing Ming hums, eyes slipping closed as he remains slumped against his poor vanity, which has probably left a chip in the wall. Boya remains mounted, leaving his length to soften inside him, thumbs stroking soothing circles into his skin and Qing Ming  _ purrs,  _ so incredibly satisfied with how his morning has turned out _.  _

“Boya.” He says at length, and his lover hums. Qing Ming blinks his eyes open and stares at the brass mirror that has, somehow, been shifted to the very edge of the vanity, in peril of falling right off. “I can’t move, Boya.” And it’s not even a lie. His bones have turned to so much jelly, and he thinks if Boya releases his hips he’s going to slide to the floor to join the puddle of his forgotten sleeping robe, and he’s going to stay there. Boya snorts, and the sound is equal parts amused and  _ smug,  _ and Qing Ming  _ loves him.  _

“What happened to that strong constitution?” Boya asks, voice gone deep and rough even as he gently withdraws, his softened length slipping free of his body with a wet sound that makes them both shiver in echoes of heat. Qing Ming whines, both at the absence and the words.

“I can’t feel my legs, Boya. Are they still attached?” He wiggles his toes for effect, and promptly winces as a cramp makes itself known in his calve. “Oh, yes, there they are.” He wheezes, and Boya snorts again, likely rolling his eyes at Qing Ming’s  _ suffering,  _ the absolute animal. He shifts behind him, and then Qing Ming bleats in surprise as he’s abruptly pulled off the vanity and, in an impressive show of strength, tipped straight back into Boya’s arms. Qing Ming endures the manhandling with grace, and tosses an arm over his lovers neck as he’s carted back to his bed, where he is promptly and rudely dropped. The bed makes a sound of protest almost in line with the one Qing Ming makes as he lands in the bedding with an  _ oompf.  _

Without pausing, Boya tips face first into the pillow beside him, and Qing Ming notices for the first time that he is, in fact,  _ fully  _ dressed, boots and gods be damned  _ weapons  _ and all, if sans hat and with his hair only half pinned up. He stares incredulously, before snorting. 

_ “Boya.”  _ He rebukes, more amused than put out, and the man beside him grunts into the pillow but makes no move to remove his gear. Qing Ming sighs, and concedes the point. He can’t move, either. 

“What am I going to do with you?” He asks rhetorically, and flops a boneless arm over to pat his lovers rump. Boya sighs, and melts into the bedding, road dust and all. 

Honey Bug is going to be quite cross with them both, Qing Ming thinks with glee. 

**Author's Note:**

> *Distant screaming*  
> Night Tiger: What is that  
> Honey Bug: Ah, Master Boya must be back  
> Night Tiger: W-what


End file.
